3rd, Short Category 2011 - David Beanland


The Toe Cave

Look into this new world. It smells faintly of caged mice,
which you cannot yet identify.
Pink things wriggle in it, dumb in the gloom and blind.
It is new but familiar.
You are too young to remember, or too old.
Someone shines a torch. You see feet, the drape of duvet.
Last time there were bones,
and slaughter on the walls.